


Mighty have Fallen

by Dexidoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Give Warnings, good luck, shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexidoodle/pseuds/Dexidoodle
Summary: Regency AUOne does what one must in order to survive...
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 97





	1. Not My House

**Author's Note:**

> Further to my Tumblr post. Here is the 2nd option.
> 
> I had to get them all out otherwise they'd disappear forever. I will update and complete everything as often as I can. Promise.

**Chapter 1 - Not My House**

"Miss Stark?"

Sansa Stark was staring blankly out of the window, not truly taking in the sweeping fields of sparkling white, nor the diamond hard pond beyond the pane. She was tired and she could admit that she may have been just a little bit broken by all that had occurred.

She shook herself inwardly and turned politely to acknowledge Rodrik, the Winterfell head butler. Her courtesies had been drummed into her almost from birth after all and one did not loose oneself entirely overnight. As much as one was tested, one must endure.

Rodrik bowed shortly, his face a mask.

"The carriage is ready, Miss." He said tightly, "and Lord Arryns household has just moved through Wintertown. You must away." His voice cracked slightly at the end of his sentence but he cleared his throat discretely and stood to the side of the door, allowing her passage to leave at her leisure.

"Thank you, Rodrik." Sansa whispered. "I am ready this very minute, I shan't dally a moment longer."

She took one last look out of the window of her former bedroom and with all of the dignity of a Stark, she turned and walked away. As she passed by Rodrik, his hand moved from his side as if to reach out to her and stop her from leaving but he left it where it was and stood as stiffly as always, the perfect servant, blending into the background. She didn't look at him... She couldn't. She hadn't the strength anymore.

She made her way down the main staircase, across the foyer and out of the main entranceway, her echoy footsteps the only sound to be heard. She stopped on the threshold and smiled sadly down at the remaining household staff who had assembled in a neat row along the stoop. No doubt for the benefit of their new master, inbound and not for the errant girl about to leave their company forever.

She drew in a deep breath and raised her chin.

"Though it must mean little to you coming from a waif such as myself, I would like to express my deepest thanks to you all for your constant and diligent care over the years. You are a credit to Winterfell and I am sure Lord Arryn will be most content here. I am also sure he will be a kind and generous master." She smiled again, her piece said, and walked with her back as rigid as steel to the door of the carriage awaiting her in the middle of the slushy yard.

The servants didn't speak, though Sansa could hear the muffled sobbing from Jeyne, her former ladies maid.

She was handed gently into the carriage by Jory the footman and he bowed low with a grimace about his normally soft and smiling lips.

"Be well, Miss Stark." He murmured quietly, not meeting her eye.

"Thank you, Jory." She replied as she settled into her seat, keeping her eyes forward. "You too."

He closed the carriage door with a click and backed away.

The carriage moved off with a jolt and Sansa kept her countenance well.

It was all for show of course. The grand looking carriage was not hers and it was only taking her to the Inn in Wintertown to meet the post before returning to Winterfell and the new Lord of the Manor. Sansa kept her eyes fixed on the wall opposite her. She was determined to not see the Arryns and they were sure to cross her path shortly on the road between the village and the Manor house. Sansa fiddled with her gloves and adjusted her bonnet. She checked the buttons on her pelisse once again and touched on the carpet bag on the seat beside her for no reason other than to have something to do with her hands. She wished that she had a book. But then, all of the books in Winterfell, bar her diary, belonged to someone else now. 

Sure enough, as she had suspected, she heard the dull thuds of many hooves upon the frozen ground and the creak of a rocking vessel and, from the very edge of her peripheral vision, she saw another large carriage trundle passed in the opposite direction. Off to claim their new home.

Sansa released a shaky breath as they cleared her field of vision.

It was not long later, that the road changed to the rumble of cobbles beneath the wheels, signalling that they were now in Wintertown village. Sansa once again resolutely kept her shoulders back and her eyes forwards. 

The people in the village would all surely recognise her; they all knew her plight and they would all have pity in their eyes and that was something that Sansa was loath to see. She prayed that they get to the Inn as quickly as was possible and that this torturous portion of the journey would be over with. She would be better once everything that was familiar was behind her. She would not have to look about her and see faces that she had grown up amongst and places where she had played as a child. She would be better when no-one knew her and she could begin again.

The carriage eventually pulled up beside the Inn and Sansa risked a quick glance out of the little window and she instantly regretted it. The Inn, in its entirety was waiting outside in the cold for her arrival and as soon as the carriage stopped, the Innkeepers wife, who used to give Sansa and her siblings lemon cakes to nibble on when they were abound, opened the door, waving away the stableboy.

She held out her callused hand and helped Sansa alight, putting a motherly arm around her shoulders and guiding her inside, instructing her husband and sons to take charge of Sansa trunks and bags with expediency.

Sansa allowed herself to be led into the Inn, enduring touches on the arm from the people at the Inn and sympathetic mumblings as she passed them. She could feel pressure building behind her eyes and they began to burn.It was as she feared.

She made it all the way to the room before the first whimper escaped her lips. The Innkeepers wife tutted softly as she closed the door and drew the girl into a tight embrace just as the dams burst and Sansa Stark collapsed in a gale of wretched sobs.

The kind woman held her patiently until the tears eventually dried up. She then helped Sansa to sit on the bed and knelt before her, bringing a cool damp cloth to her face to gently wipe away the salt of her tears and the swelling in her eyes.

"You're so brave, Miss Stark... so brave." The woman murmured, tucking a stray curl back under her bonnet with careful solicitude. "The post will be leaving here at six. You just stay up here and rest away from the lookie-loos. And you should eat... you need to be strong for your journey."

Sansa smiled weakly in gratitude. She didn't know the woman's name though they had been acquainted for her entire life and seemed very rude to ask it of her now. Sansa felt sad because of it.

The Innkeepers wife then went to answer the unobtrusive knock at the door and ushered in the maid with a tray, setting it on the sideboard and instantly pouring a cup of fragrant tea. Sansa accepted it when it was handed to her, though she didn't think that she could stomach it in truth.

Just taking it seemed to be enough for the landlady though as she nodded and dismissed the maid with a tilt of her head.

"I'll come and collect you when it's time." The woman said as she backed out of the door after the maid. "You drink your tea and get some rest, dear."

"You're too kind, ma'am." Sansa replied with a bowed head.

The woman tutted again and closed the door with a click, leaving Sansa alone with her tea and with her thoughts.

Sansa was thoroughly ashamed that she had just made a fool if herself by breaking down so abhorrently. She fervently wished that she had the steadfast control and decorum that her mother had always displayed. Catelyn Stark would never have made such a spectical of herself. 

It was the fleeting thought of her mother that bought on the torrent of even more memories of her family. It was always the way now, she could not control the direction of her thoughts no matter how much she tried and it inevitably bought about her grief anew.

It had been two whole months since the good doctor Luwin had declared Winterfell to be healthy once again. The time before that had been a living nightmare... Smallpox had ripped it's way through the great house and through the Stark family itself.

It had claimed little Rickon first.

It was widely believed that the somewhat wild little boy had bought the plague into the house by continuing to play amongst the Wildling children who had camped with their families in the nearby forests. He had fallen ill after one such foray.

Brandon was next, and then Robb, the eldest son and heir to the Stark name.

Ned Stark died on the same night as his youngest daughter, Arya, the scrappy little firebrand... Some say that he gave up all hope when word reached his bed that his littlest girl had lost her final fight.

Catelyn Stark had held out the longest. She had fought so very hard to not leave her last living child all alone in the world but it was not to be. Sansa had cuddled up to her mother and had sung her a sweet song that night. When she had awoke in the morning, it was to her mother's cold body... and to a very cold world indeed.

The pox had taken half of the servants as well, lest anyone forget... Rodrik had lost his dear wife, the housekeeper. Nan from the kitchen... Mordane, Lady Starks maid... Howland, Lord Starks valet... more and more... on and on... until those that survived, fair rattled around in the interior of the great manor house.

Sansa Stark though, was immune.

Sansa was the last living Stark.

Sansa was an unmarried girl... and girls did not inherit.

And so it was that the great house at Winterfell was entailed away to her cousin, Robin Arryn.

It was perhaps unfortunate that Robin Arryn was not the nicest of young men. It was unfortunate that he held no love for his cousin, Sansa. It was unfortunate that as soon as he had received word that he had inherited all, he replied that he would be in residence as soon as it was certain that the illness had run its course. He had no inclination to marry and nor did he want a young woman swanning uselessly around his new home... and here we were.

What was once the eldest daughter of one of the most influential and most respected families in all of Westeros, was now a near penniless urchin, with nothing to her once good name but a paltry fifty pounds and a few trunks of personal effects.

Lord Stark, for all of his goodness, had not anticipated that his whole, young family would be wiped out in one fell swoop and had not yet made arrangements for Sansa. He had planned for her to be out in society for a while before seeking out a likely match... they had time and wealth enough to dally.

Now, her dowry was denied to her, it had not even been set. She was only sixteen and had not even seen a season in the capital yet. There had apparently been no need for such... not yet.

The maid of sixteen had some very difficult decisions to make...

Sansa sat on the bed upon which she had been deposited, for a long time, taking only a couple of small ladylike sips of her quickly cooling tea before setting it aside as a bad job.

She eventually took to her feet and took a turn about the small room to clear her head before looking at her wan reflection in the tiny glass on the vanity. She repaired her mussed hair and crooked bonnet, rechecked the buttons on her pelisse and straightened her skirts. No matter her current station in life, she was still a Stark first and foremost and she must maintain her dignity and grace in the face of adversity. She drew in a deep fortifying breath and nodded her head sharply with firm resolution. She would shed no more tears! She would not bemoan her lot. She would endure all hardships as all of the Starks before her had done... with unflinching strength and quiet dignity. A girl she may be, but she could be strong.

The expected knock on the door came and Sansa Stark drew herself up, opened the door and met the kindly landlady eye to eye. No more bowed heads. No more lowered gazes.

The Innkeepers wife saw the change and nodded approvingly.

"The post is about ready to depart, Miss Stark." She announced warmly. "You should make your way below stairs now."

"You have my thanks, ma'am." Sansa dipped a quick curtsy. " May I settle up accounts with you?"

The woman pressed her lips together dissapprovingly for a moment before tutting again. "No charge for a sit down, Miss... Now, come along." She put her arm out for Sansa to lay her gloved fingertips upon, to lead her on her way.

Sansa was led down and out into the chill day once more and without delay, she was sequestered in the cushioned bench seat of the post coach next to a woman with her small son and across from two gentlemen who had the look of clerks about them. Sansa nodded politely to each in turn and smiled as she was bid to formally shake the hand of the young boy by her side.

She settled into her seat and briefly looked out of the window, raising her hand to wave at the Innkeeper and his wife... and to Wintertown and to Winterfell beyond. 

And to her previous life.

The daughter of the Lord of Winterfell was no more.

The young governess, Miss Sansa Stark, however... Her life was about to begin.


	2. Not My Home

**Chapter 2: Not My Home**

Sansa Stark'd had to think very hard about what her next course of action might be. 

After the black days of deep despair and darkened rooms, Sansa had pulled forth her courage, dried her eyes and had written a set of missives to no fair few of her fathers former acquaintances to seek council. She had received but one reply from all of those seemingly great men.

She had only met Sir Robert once before and she had only been very small at the time, still hiding behind her nurses skirts. He had been a towering, boisterous man who had scared Sansa right back into the nursery with his great booming voice and his dark scraggly appearance.

His carefully worded letter though, had been kind. She had appreciated it and she had appreciated his generous offer.

At the end of the day, Sansas choices were very limited, though she made a great show of dithering over them. She either could trust in her reputed great beauty and hope to find a husband in no time at all and despite her low status.. Or she could go into service. 

With Sir Roberts offer... She chose the latter.

Robert Baratheon had two young children who required education in etiquette and manners, reading, writing, arithmetic and natural sciences. His wife had no time to school them as Catelyn Stark had done for her own brood and so he had generously offered her the position of Governess, with promises of a decent wage, comfortable living arrangements and a glowing reference when her contract was due to expire with the possibility of remaining with his daughter as a companion and chaperone until she were to marry.

Sansa was educated well enough and she had manners in spades. She could also draw, sew, play the piano forte and sing more than passably... and so she found herself now, rocking and bouncing along with her fellow passengers towards the Great house of Storms End, the seat of Sir Roberts family in the Stormlands.

The trip was longer than any that she had participated in in the past. Many days worth of weary travel, when she had only ever been as far South as Cerwyn ever before. The post coach stopped often, picking up and dropping off the essential mail for the kingdom as they roamed up and down the Kingsroad. Their longest stop was at a large Inn in the middle of nowhere that was simply called _'The Crossroads'_. The horses were changed and the mother and son departed their company with warm smiles and nods (and a solemn handshake from the little boy). The carriage then collected an aged Maester and they were on the road yet again.

Sansa had stared in open-mouthed wonder as the coach had entered the Capital. She had heard stories about the glory and splendor of Kings Landing but she had never imagined that it would look quite so grand. It was extravagantly breathtaking. She was sad that she would never be able to see it all for true, that her season would never come. There were no balls or concerts for governesses... she would have to content herself with the view outside of the coaches little square windows. The coach stopped at _'The Dragons Rest'_ Inn and Sansa was shooed away to the southbound coach that would soon deposit her to her new situation and then continue on south into Dorne. For this portion of the trip she found herself with a stern looking man with a mighty mustache sitting opposite her. They did not speak for the duration of their journey, in fact it was so quiet inside the coach that they both drifted off to sleep, something that Sansa had managed to avoid thus far for fear of making herself look ridiculous.

The rain was coming down in dense sheets as the post coach pulled to a sloppy halt at the stoop of _'The Stag & Crown'_ Inn. The jarring stop jolted the inhabitants of the coach to come awake with varying starts. The grim gentleman blushed and smoothed his mustache as he had made a rather feminine squawk upon his awakening. He drew out his pocket watch and made a show of checking it intently so as to avoid the eyes of the young woman opposite him.

Sansa stifled the small smile that threatened to tug at her lips at his coloured cheeks and ruffled feathers and instead looked out of the window, watching as the footman leapt from his drenched seat to pull the mailbag and luggage from the storage cubbies, under a dark and ominous sky. It had gone full night now and Sansa clutched at the handles of her carpet bag in an unseemly bout of nerves at the sight of her trunks and bags being stacked in a tidy pile by the Inn door. All of her worldly possessions in a sad stack in the rain, waiting to be transported to her new residence... Residence, not home. She had no home now. 

The footman turned to the coach at last and wrestled open the door, being careful not to let it fly from his grasp in the sudden billowy wind. He tipped his dripping hat towards her, but did not extend his hand to help her alight. This was it. This was the moment that she really had become nothing but a lowly governess.

She took a deep fortifying breath, adjusted the grip on her carpet bag and stood from her seat. She nodded in farewell to her companion and stepped down from the coach with as much dignity as she could muster and felt her tightly laced half-boot sink into the ankle deep mud beneath the step. She cringed as she lowered her other foot to reluctantly join the first and gave a weak smile to the footman as he closed the door firmly behind her. Filthy water and mud began to fill her shoes as the footman leapt back up beside the driver. There was the crack of a whip and the post coach trundled away, sending a flow of muck to coat the back of Sansas skirts,

The rain continued to fall unheeded as Sansa stood morosely in its steady flow. Her bonnet did nothing to protect her head and she felt her bound curls beneath begin to soak through. She nibbled her lip as she cast her eye about the Inn yard but there was not a soul to be seen. The Inn itself had a golden glow coming from the windows and the sound of music, raised voices and merriment emitted from within.

Sansa recalled from her letter, which she was unwilling to draw from her bag in a veritable deluge, that Sir Roberts man was to meet her in the Inns yard. He had obviously retreated within, which was understandable considering the weather. She hitched up her skirts as far as she dared and pulled her boot from the mud with an indiscreet squelch and began her slog towards the Inns stout door.

She mounted the steps and looked worriedly down at her pile of luggage. Would it be safe here? The mailbag had been secreted inside the lockbox for collection by the runners but her things, all of her things, were out in the open.... hmmm... She would need to risk it, if only for a moment.

She cracked open the Inn door and entered the hot, noisy taproom with her head held high and an air of confidence that she did not actually posses. Though she must have been a sight in her sodden, muddy gown, she went unnoticed by most of the patrons as there was some kind of sport being observed in the far corner involving warring roosters and a great deal of shouting. A cockfight, she supposed, she had heard of such things but the appeal of them escaped her.

She made her way to the wooden bar and got the barkeeps attention with a raised hand. He sniffed and tossed a dirty rag over his shoulder and wander slowly over to her.

"What'll it be, young miss." He gave her a broken toothed sneer as he took in her less than savoury appearance.

"Excuse me sir." Sansa returned politely, "I was wondering if a carriage from Storms End has been by? They were to meet me on the post."

The surly barkeep grunted. "Nope, no carriages from the great house."

The conversation was obviously over, as he turned his back and left her dripping at the end of his bar, looking quite lost. Now what was she to do?

A great roar erupted from the cockfighting corner and Sansa almost blocked her ears at the din. The Taproom was too noisy to gather ones thoughts, so she retreated outside to the Inns steps and her waiting luggage again to think this through.

Perhaps the post had been early? or perhaps the carriage was delayed in getting here by the rain? Perhaps they mistook the time or even the day of her arrival? Perhaps they had forgotten her all together?

She decided to wait a while under the Inns awnings in the hope that the Baratheon carriage would be by soon and then, if it became too late, secure herself a room and a meal at the noisy Inn with her meager coin (and hope for reimbursement from her new master). Decided, she sat herself daintily down on the top step and sat straight-backed to look out at the rain with her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap.

The Stormlands were definitely living up to their name, she mused as she watched puddles expanding in the soupy mud. The rain had, if possible, become even more heavy. This was not an auspicious beginning to her career. A bedraggled dog wandered past her with its head and tail down, not even bothering to look, let alone yap at her. She sighed despondently.

She jumped slightly as the inns door behind her was suddenly yanked open from within and a patron stumbled outside, barely avoiding her pile of luggage and herself as he passed her by. He stomped down the stairs and splashed into the mud with no care nor grace and then swung around to glare down at her through a long curtain of wet, lank hair.

Sansa suppressed her gasp as his glimmering eyes struck her from out of the shadowy recesses of his face. She stared up at him from her low seat and it was such a very long way up... the man was a virtual giant.

He gave a dismissive grunt and moved to stand before the wall of the Inn. He then proceeded to unbuckle his belt, pull his manhood from his trousers and began pissing all over the wall.

Sansa Stark could not even begin to contain her gasp this time. She was so shocked and appalled that she could not even look away. She was frozen in position, her wide eyes glued to the giant beasts dangling appendage, her jaw slack in horror. She felt her face explode in unbearable heat. She was a lady! How could he?! She'd never seen a mans piece before, not in any state, let alone in a mans hand and excreting a strong stream of steaming urine.

She dug for the internal fortitude to tear her eyes from him and stared instead at the wet slate steps of the Inn while the horrid man finished his business, her face flaming in mortification the whole time

She eventually heard the sound of a belt buckle clinking as it was refastened and she heard the sludgy steps of him stepping back from his thoroughly doused wall and then there was just the sound of heavy rain hitting the already overly sodden ground. He was not leaving. He was just standing there.

Sansa risked a quick peak back up at the man as he towered over her and was surprised to see that he had returned to glaring down at her. They stared at each other for quite some time. In due course, the man huffed and ran his large hand through his drenched hair, pulling it back from his face in impatience.

Once again Sansa could not contain her gasp as a thick tract of scarring was exposed to the sputtering torchlight. Half of the mans face was gone, lost to fire or so it seemed, at some time in the years past. The mans eyes widened briefly and then he jerkily pulled his hair back forwards to cover over the scars once more, with his face becoming even more grim and shadowed than before.

He huffed again

"Come on then, girl." He rasped darkly, reaching for her arm and hauling her to her feet.

Sansa Stark made a sound of profound shock and once standing pulled her arm free from the ruffians grasp.

"How dare you lay hands on my person." She cried, nearly apoplectic with fury. "I am a lady, sir, not some common strumpet."

The giant man barked out a sharp laugh as he let his eyes roam over her. He snorted in a very insulting manner once his eyes had had their fill.

"A Lady, is it?" He grated out harshly with a grin that was more feral than friendly. "Not Sir Roberts new hire then .... alright." 

He turned from her abruptly and strode off into the rain, stumbling every now and then in the slippery yard and betraying his level of intoxication.

Sansa stood and looked on open-mouthed. The shocks would never cease this day. Was this... this... _MAN_... the escort to Storms End? Had he been drinking inside whilst he should have been waiting for her arrival? While _she_ had been waiting in the rain? The Cur!

Well! She refused to budge. She would wait until morning, hire a cart to take her to the great house on her own and Sir Robert would get an earful about this...this man!

She looked up as she heard the rattle and splash of a rickety cart approaching and sure enough the giant cur was hunched over in the drivers seat, directing the donkey at the fore towards the Inns gate. He was now in a large black overcoat, slick with rain water and a wide brimmed hat was pulled down low over his brow. He truly looked like a great beast tensed and ready to leap and strike.

The cart rattled to a stop at the steps and he did indeed lumber his way down. He shambled passed her in a miasma of wine fumes and began hauling her luggage up into the cart... without her leave to do so.

"What do you think....? Eeeek!"

After her trunk was dumped into the bed of the cart, the monster picked up Sansa herself like she were a hat box and all but tossed her up onto the bench

He eyed her from the ground. 

"Wouldn't do to leave a lady loitering outside an Inn." He rumbled sarcastically, "Folks might get the wrong idea about her, think her a common strumpet."

Sansa opened her mouth to protest but slammed her lips shut and pressed them into a thin line as the man turned and walked away towards the Inn and disappeared inside, leaving her sitting on the cart in the pouring rain.

He came back out a few moment later with a wine bottle hanging loosely from his hand, slipping slightly on the stairs as he descended them before dragging himself up to sit beside her in the cart. Sansa was certain that there was steam coming from her ears she was so angry. Oblivious, he took a long drink from his bottle, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and offered the bottle to her.

She stared daggers back at him. He simply shrugged, took up the reins and slapped the donkey into movement.

Sansa almost fell backwards as the cart took off with a jolt. One of her hands clutched at the edge of the bench seat to keep her upright and the other clutched at her bonnet which threatened to stay in the yard of the Inn as she was dragged out onto the road.

The two of them ploughed through the dark rainy night in silence. The road was nothing but a slightly lighter streak in the nothingness ahead of them. He took up his bottle every now and then and drank deeply until it was empty. He then belched loudly and negligently tossed the bottle into the weeds on the roadside. Sansa stared forwards into the black with her chin held especially high. She would spare the uncouth, horrible beast no more of her attention.

An age passed before they veered off the road and into a shadowed byway, passing through a formidable stone archway surmounted with a pair of stone warring stags, their antlers locked in perpetual combat and the words 'Storms End' etched deep into the ancient stonework below.

Sansa held her breath as they passed under a copse of trees before breaking though the undergrowth to see the immense dark outline of the great house of her new employers... the house in which she was to serve.


End file.
